


for the love of

by segmentcalled



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Blow Jobs, Communication, Crying, Crying During Sex, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Gratuitous Overuse of Italics, Hand Jobs, Light BDSM, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Scene Gone Wrong, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:14:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23178244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/segmentcalled/pseuds/segmentcalled
Summary: Griffin hasn’t done anything like this in a hot minute. Tends more often to find partners who generally enjoy a less-serious tone in the bedroom, more inclined for silliness than this sort of vibe — he can’t possibly imagine why, it’s not like it’s his entire brand or anything — but the dance he and Pat have been doing is enticing. One of them snarks, the other parries, and their verbal sparring more often than not turns into a volley of increasingly heated comments until they are interrupted or one of them gives, clearing their throat and redirecting the conversation.So when their script-writing sesh turns into bickering which turns into a more agitated back-and-forth which turns into Pat dragging Griffin in by the collar and kissing him… well, goddamn, Griffin’s all the way here for this shit.
Relationships: Patrick Gill/Griffin McElroy
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	for the love of

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to fishcola and justtheplanets for betaing this! ♥♥♥♥ and for reassuring me it was worth posting alkdjfhglk

Griffin hasn’t done anything like this in a hot minute. Tends more often to find partners who generally enjoy a less-serious tone in the bedroom, more inclined for silliness than this sort of vibe — he can’t possibly imagine why, it’s not like it’s his entire brand or anything — but the dance he and Pat have been doing is enticing. One of them snarks, the other parries, and their verbal sparring more often than not turns into a volley of increasingly heated comments until they are interrupted or one of them gives, clearing their throat and redirecting the conversation.

So when their script-writing sesh turns into bickering which turns into a more agitated back-and-forth which turns into Pat dragging Griffin in by the collar and kissing him… well, goddamn, Griffin’s all the way here for this shit.

Griffin moves his laptop off the bed — look, there’s not a lot of space in an NYC apartment to hang out and work — as Pat keeps ahold of him. The moment that’s taken care of, Griffin presses forward against Pat to kiss him again, fervent, hungry, the way he’s been dying to for _months_.

“_God_, Patrick,” Griffin groans against Pat’s mouth. Pat makes a rough sound and pushes his hands up the back of Griffin’s shirt, then scrapes his nails back down. Griffin shivers. “Fuck, okay, _yes_, baby, tell me what you want?”

“I — I want _you_,” Pat stutters out. “I want — Griff, Griffin, do you want to fuck?” He says that last like it’s all one word, _d’yawannafuck_, like if he keeps it unobtrusive enough it won’t be too forward. Griffin laughs in sheer delight.

“Fuck _yeah_, Pat!”

They make haste in stripping their clothes off, grabbing each other into kisses whenever possible, and good god Griffin knew Pat was gorgeous but he wasn’t prepared to have his skin pressed to Pat’s, to have Pat’s hot mouth against his, for the way Pat lurches forward to grind his cock against Griffin’s hip when Griffin grabs Pat’s ass. Griffin twists with force behind it, hard enough to shove Pat down onto the bed.

Pat goes easily and stares up at Griffin, his eyes so wide, breathing hard. Griffin puts his hands on Pat’s shoulders and presses down on him, for good measure, and Pat’s eyelids flutter shut for the briefest of moments. Pat could buck him off if he set his mind to it, but instead when Griffin sits on his thighs, he writhes under him and grabs Griffin’s hips, in a silent gesture to say that he wants him right here, that if he struggles it’s just for funsies.

So Pat’s thirst tweets _do_ translate to real life. What a wonderful development. But Griffin holds still anyway, waits to see what he can get out of Pat with just a little bit of patience.

Pat’s thumbs dig into the meat of Griffin’s hips, and Griffin raises his eyebrows.

“You,” Pat says, “you can — I _like_ this. You can be mean to me.”

“In what way?”

“I’unno, man, hold me down and fuckin’ — make me blow you or something, talk real dirty if that’s what you’re into.”

“_Oh_,” Griffin says, and grins. Pat smiles back, looking up at Griffin through his eyelashes. Fuck, he’s beautiful.

Griffin wants to fuck him _up_.

Griffin grabs Pat by the wrists and holds them down to the bed, and Pat throws his head back and arches up towards Griffin, until Griffin drops his weight back down onto Pat’s thighs. He hasn’t even touched him yet and Pat’s cock is already hard and leaking precome, his breath coming harsher as he tests Griffin’s strength.

“Stay fuckin’ still, will you?” Griffin says.

“Make me,” Pat says, and meets Griffin’s eyes dead-on.

Griffin does so like a challenge. He lets go of Pat’s wrists — Pat looks surprised — and moves quickly up Pat’s body, so he’s straddling his torso instead. Pat’s breath catches, and his eyes drag up Griffin’s body, unashamedly pausing at Griffin’s cock, and before Pat can look up at Griffin’s face, Griffin shoves both his hands into Pat’s hair and pulls his head up instead.

This was a good guess: Pat gasps audibly and his entire being seems to focus on Griffin, even as he squirms a little, like he’s trying really fuckin’ hard to stay still but can’t. Griffin jerks his head in an unspoken command for Pat to move himself upwards, and Pat scrabbles into something closer to an actual sitting position.

Griffin doesn’t let Pat settle before he drags Pat in by the hair, gets his mouth barely an inch away from Griffin’s hard cock as Griffin growls, “Suck.”

Pat doesn’t even hesitate before he sinks his mouth down on Griffin’s cock and fucking _does_, looking up with those dark eyes of his locked on Griffin the whole time.

“Look at you,” Griffin says, low and rough. “Sucking cock like you were _born_ to do it. Like you were made to take my cock. Should I fuck your face? Is that what you want? You want me to use you like the little —— you are?”

Pat’s breath hitches as he pulls back a little, but he catches it quick and sinks back down on him to let Griffin slowly rock his hips.

“I wanna fuck you,” Griffin says. “Wanna work you open, see if both your holes take my cock so perfect like this. Christ. Like you’re made for me. Think you can take it?”

“Please,” Pat gasps, raw and ragged from sucking Griffin, and Griffin fucking scrambles.

Griffin doesn’t linger on the preamble. In hardly any time at all, he has Pat speared on his cock, fucking into him hard enough to shift him on the bed, to drag little grunts out of him.

“You like that? You like taking me like it’s all you’re good for? ‘Cause I could keep this up, you know. Could keep you mine like this. Hold you down and fuck you ‘till I’m bored.” He thrusts forward hard, and Pat moans, feet scrabbling on the bedsheets. “Hope you’re good at keeping my attention, sweetheart, ‘cause I’m gonna need your best.”

“Fuck,” Pat pants, “_Griffin_.”

Christ, his name sounds good in Pat’s mouth. He can’t resist goading him further, to see what he’ll do if Griffin keeps pushing. “Is that all you got?” Griffin drawls. When Pat gives no reply, he adds, “Do you need more from _me?_ God, needy.”

Griffin picks up his pace. Pat’s breathing harshly, hands balled tight into fists, his face screwed up and eyes closed, rolling his hips up into the movement like he’s giving Griffin everything he can give.

“Come on, Patrick,” Griffin says, figuring from the face Pat’s making that he’s close, that maybe doubling down will take him there, will make his mouth fall open around Griffin’s name. “I know you can do better than that, baby. You’re not gonna disappoint me, right? Don’t let me down. You’re just made for taking cock, you ——, and don’t you forget it.”

Pat makes a choked sound and pushes at Griffin. For a second, Griffin thinks he’s playfighting, because his push is weak, but then he lifts his legs to physically shove Griffin away with his feet, which drags Griffin’s cock out of him, and he’s turning away and curling in on himself and  
oh  
oh god  
oh no oh god is he  
he’s  
pat is _crying_  
oh god griffin fucked up, he’s fucked this whole thing up —

“Patrick?” he whispers.

Pat inhales like he’s going to speak, except it gets away from him and turns into a shuddering full-bodied sob. He curls up into a ball and pushes the heels of his hands against his eyes and oh god he really _did_ fuck up bad he has to fix this he has to fix this right _now_.

“Patrick,” Griffin says again, trying to keep anxiety out of his voice. “Pat, what happened, baby? I’m so sorry, I — I — Pat?”

He’s never seen Pat cry. He’s never even _imagined_ it. Never ever _ever_ imagined seeing Pat cry so hard that his jaw wrenches open around an invisible silent scream that comes out as nothing but a rush of air, that he’s jackknifed so tightly in on himself that it looks like it hurts, that his whole body is wracked with shuddering.

“Pat, are you here with me, please,” Griffin says, knowing perfectly well that the raw edge of desperation is leaking out of him despite his best efforts, that he’s careening wildly towards a panic attack and he can do nothing to stop it. Pat just cries. Cries and cries for what feels like an eternity but may only be moments. “I’m here. I’m here. I got you. I’m so sorry. I’m here for you. I’m so sorry, baby. I’m sorry, I’m so _sorry_,” and _fuck_ if Griffin starts crying too everything is going to go straight to hell.

So of course Griffin starts crying too, and everything goes straight to hell.

“Pat can I touch you please Pat I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t mean it I didn’t mean to hurt you I didn’t mean it I didn’t mean it at all you’re perfect you take my fucking breath away I’m overjoyed to be here with you I could never be bored with you or disappointed you’re _perfect_ please I’m so sorry I’m so sorry —”

And Pat deigns to press his coiled-tight body into Griffin’s arms without looking at him or letting Griffin look at him and he’s still making these horrible soundless wails that are just tight-throated exhales and it’s the worst thing Griffin’s ever seen or heard and he can’t fucking stop _crying_ and Pat can’t stop crying and it’s the worst thing that’s ever happened in all the world, Pat is crying like he’s been gutted and Griffin can’t do a single thing worth a good goddamn except apologize but it’s _useless_ he’s said it over and over and he knows he has to just wait, wait it out

just wait

until the soundless cries fade into helpless little sobs and then into pitiful little sniffles and then Pat’s just swallowing back the remainder of sobs, but he won’t move and he won’t pull back and he won’t let Griffin look at him and by now Griffin’s panic attack has fully landed in the territory of _I’ve ruined absolutely everything forever what I’ve said and done is unforgivable and he will never forgive me and he never_ should _forgive me_ so he’s crying messy snotty tears over Pat’s head and everything is so bad that Griffin could absolutely just die of it.

“I’m sorry,” Pat chokes out, hoarse. “I should’ve said sooner. ‘S my bad. Can’t — I can’t take talk like that.”

Griffin’s mind flashes back to every moment that he’s teased Pat over the course of their acquaintance, every time it came out too harsh, came out too close to sounding real, too close to home. Plays those scenes back in slow motion and wonders if he’d have even noticed if Pat flinched. How hard Pat might’ve hid it.

How Griffin would take it back if he could but all he can do is say _imsorryimsorryimsorry_, a mishmash of syllables that have lost all meaning except Griffin means it desperately, he has to make sure, he has to make sure Pat knows, he _has_ to, he’s so sorry he’s so sorry, he loves Pat, he thinks Pat is perfect, head to foot and heart and soul, he’s never meant a harsh word towards him not even once and he’s so sorry, he’ll _never_ do it again he’ll be so good he’ll give Pat every tenderness he knows how to give he’ll atone for this he’ll take apart every sentence with Pat and tell him exactly how every single thing he said was wrong and how he didn’t mean it and what he means instead and what he means instead is _I love you, I love you, Pat, I love you so much I don’t know how to handle it and I fucked up so bad and I’m so sorry and I don’t know if you can forgive me but if you do I swear to you I’ll make it right please Pat let me fix this I love you I love you I love you_ —

Pat kisses him.

They both have gross wet tearstained faces and salty-tasting lips and Griffin immediately licks into Pat’s mouth and kisses him like he could bury himself inside him. His fingers dig into Pat’s bony shoulder and they’re both breathing in fucked-up shuddery patterns.

If this is a benediction, Griffin will never ever deserve it, but by all the gods that have ever been known, he’s gonna _try_ to.

They kiss for a long time. They kiss until the way Griffin’s breath catches and the way Pat’s breath catches is only from how good it feels. Only then does Pat pull away.

He caresses Griffin’s face as a lover; he thumbs away the tears and kisses his cheeks as Griffin tries not to cry more. He thinks Pat is also trying not to cry more. Griffin knows that if he opens his mouth and apologizes again, he’s gonna set himself off again, so he waits. He waits for Pat with bated breath, until Pat says.

He says.

“Griffin, I… did you mean it?”

“What?”

“That you. That you love me?”

“Of course,” Griffin says, his voice coming out ragged. “Of _course_ I do.”

“How come?” Pat shakes his head as Griffin opens his mouth, his hair falling over his face haphazardly. “No, that’s the wrong — I just — it’s — all I do is fuck up. It’s pathetic, and disappointing, and all I do is trip on myself and — and make y — and make mistakes and — I don’t understand. I just don’t understand.”

“No, Pat,” Griffin whispers. “You’re _perfect_. I — I — if anything I ever said made you feel that way, I regret it. I regret it _so fucking hard_. I don’t mean it, and I never meant it, and you deserve all the tenderness in the world and I didn’t _give_ you that and if it made you think you didn’t deserve it from me then that’s fucking unforgivable of me and I would do _anything_ to fix it. Anything at all. I’m so fucking sorry, Patrick. I love you. I _love_ you. You’re beautiful and brilliant and kind and sweet and funny and too fucking good for me by a thousand million times and I can’t believe I took the one chance I had to be with you and stomped on it by being an absolute dickhead.”

“You didn’t,” Pat says. “You’re not — you didn’t. I’m too sensitive. I know you didn’t mean most of it, but I still — I still — it echoes through my head, and I love you too, I love you so much it _hurts_, and sometimes all I can hear is the ways I’ve failed you and the times I thought you were mad at me and I thought — I thought — maybe I could fix it like this. Because the one thing you’ve never made fun of… and then. I. I said the wrong thing and I didn’t stop you when I should’ve and it _hurts_ and I can’t take it. I can’t. And I’m sorry if that makes me weak. But I just fucking can’t. Not from you. Not from anyone. It’s too much. And I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t mean you’re weak,” Griffin says, cautiously running his fingers through Pat’s hair. “You’re allowed to be sensitive. You’re allowed to take things to heart. That’s a _good_ trait. And I’m so sorry that I didn’t realize this about you and so I stomped all over it and hurt you in this way. I’m so, so sorry. If you give me a chance, I _swear_ I’ll show you. I’ll fix this. I’ll go through every rotten thing I ever said line by line and tell you in detail all the ways I was wrong and how fucking perfect you actually are. I’ll do it, Patrick. I’ll do whatever you need. I swear to you, I mean it. I _adore_ you.”

Patrick sniffles, and Griffin hugs him tight. Pat hugs back with the same force, then tips his chin up to kiss Griffin again, with a soft moan when their mouths touch.

“I want you to be mine,” Pat whispers, into the hollow of Griffin’s mouth. “I want to be yours. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be good enough. I’ll try. I’ll do my best. I know you deserve better than me, but if you want me, you can _have_ me, just please don’t — please don’t break my heart —”

And then Pat’s crying again and Griffin is lost and scared and helpless and everything is wrong, how could everything possibly have gone so wrong?

“Did I make you feel like this,” Griffin says, just shy of a sob, “did I make you think you weren’t good enough for me, Patrick, _Patrick_, I — I — Pat, it’s me who doesn’t deserve _you_. You have such a good and kind heart and I didn’t know I was hurting you and I _should have_ and I want to make this better and I don’t know _how_, I don’t know the right way to fix this and you’re perfect and I don’t know — I — Pat, Patrick, I love you and I don’t know what to _do_ and I’ve done all the wrong things and I’m so fucking _sorry_. I don’t want to ever break your heart. I want to be yours, too. I want to — to — to hold you gently and carefully and kiss you where you’re hurting and tell you every single thing that’s perfect about you, which is everything, because every single thing about you is perfect. How can I fix this. What can I do. I never want to make you feel like this again. _Never_.”

“Please just be nice to me,” Pat says, in what’s almost a fucking whimper, his voice thin and ragged from crying. “_Please_.”

It shatters Griffin’s heart into little bitty pieces, to hear this.

He wishes he could stop fucking _crying_.

“I’m gonna,” he says, choking back a sob, “I’m gonna, I swear, I’m gonna give you everything you want, I’m gonna do everything I know how to do, I wanna be nice to you, I wanna be gentle with you and kind to you and make you smile and never make you cry like this again. I want to love you in a way that doesn’t hurt.”

And now Griffin’s the one crying pitifully, now that Pat’s calmed somewhat, and he kisses Griffin what feels like endlessly, pressing him down into the bed, until Griffin’s whining around shuddering breaths and he’s so many things at once and yet his dick is getting hard again and he wants Pat so desperately and he doesn’t think he’ll _ever_ deserve him.

“Show me,” is what Pat says, eventually. “I love you with all my goddamn fucking heart and I _can’t_ take any more hurt. Show me how nice you can be. Show me the kindness. _Please_.”

This is such a spear to the heart that Griffin has to pull back and sit up and drag his hands down his face and say, “I’m having a panic attack.”

“Fuck,” says Pat, and then confesses, “Me too.”

“Fuck,” Griffin agrees.

“I’m sort of on the downswing, though. I — shit, Griffin, what do you need?”

Griffin doesn’t know what must be showing on his face to cause such alarm on Pat’s, but it must be pretty bad, especially since he can’t stop himself from saying, “I need to stop being a piece of shit.”

Griffin drags his hands through his hair, clenching them into fists to pull at it, curling in on himself, and he _knows_ this is the bad way to handle this, but he’s imploding, he’s about to shut down, about to fold down to the bed in the fetal position and rock back and forth and sob and he has no fucking idea how to stop it because it’s gotten too far for him to stop with sheer willpower and at this point it’s halfway not even about what happened, it’s his body’s feedback loop, panic feeding into panic, making tears leak and lungs shudder and mouth go.

“And I shouldn’t be freaking out because it’s my _fault_, I fucked up, I’m the one to blame, and here I am losing my whole shit because I got called on my garbage behavior, and you’re having to deal with it even though you’re the person I hurt and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to stop. You — you can go if you need to. At any time. I — I don’t want you to. But I’m selfish.”

“No,” Pat murmurs. “You’re beautiful. You’re perfect. You didn’t know what you were doing. I never said anything. That’s how you interact with people. I know this. You know this. It’s affectionate teasing, usually, and that’s fine. It’s just that there’s a threshold where I can’t handle it, and it comes a lot sooner than a lot of people’s. And I’m sorry to ask you to change a natural behavior, but it’s what I need if we’re going to do this.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Griffin says. “I _want_ to be tender with you. I want to be sweet. I — I was scared. I was hiding behind it. Because I didn’t know how to deal with my feelings. And I’m genuinely so fucking sorry I handled it like this. How can I make it up to you? Can I make it up to you?”

“Just… work on it, if you can? That’s — that’s all I want. To know that you’re making an effort.”

“I swear,” Griffin says fervently. “I _swear_ I will.”

“I believe you,” Pat says, and this time when Pat kisses him, Griffin’s crying again — or maybe still — but this time, it’s of gratitude.

Pat lays Griffin out beneath him and jerks him off devastatingly slow, with Griffin scrabbling at the sheets, begging and pleading and promising and praising and sobbing until he comes and crumples against the mattress to cry and cry and cry as Pat works his hand on his own cock until he gasps and shudders and lowers his head as he comes, his come landing on Griffin’s hips, his belly, and it’s so hot and yet Griffin can’t stop fucking _crying_ which is now clearly freaking Pat out as Griffin desperately tries to reassure him around tears that it’s not Pat’s fault, it’s just the rest of this fucking massive panic attack back to bite his ass.

“Do you, uh. Do you have meds?” Pat asks, stroking his fingers over Griffin’s hair.

“Fuck, I forgot. Yes, I do, they’re in my backpack. Front pocket.”

“Stay right here, Griff. I’ll get it for you.” Pat kisses his temple and hops up off the bed. He tracks down Griffin’s meds and a glass of water and a damp washcloth and by the time Pat’s wiped Griffin’s skin clean of come, Griffin’s sobs have given away to simpler shuddery breaths.

By the time they’re curled up together the shuddery breaths have given way to mild trembling.

Then, at some point, the mild trembling gives way to the welcoming inky darkness of sleep.

* * *

When Griffin wakes up, he has some absolutely brutal post-anxiety exhaustion all the way down to his bones, and  
he also has  
an empty bed.

His chest clenches and he’s bracing himself for another tidal wave of anxiety when he hears footsteps, and then there’s Pat, wrapped in a towel. He looks surprised to see Griffin awake.

“Hey,” Pat says. “Sorry, I used your shower, I was just — super gross and needed a reset.”

“Totally fine,” Griffin says. “What time’s it?”

“Almost noon. That shit knocks ya out, huh?”

“Yeah. Fuck, I still feel like garbage, though.”

“Shit, Griff, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you like that.”

“I didn’t mean to _get_ upset like that. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m _glad_ you spoke up. I feel awful for freaking out on you like that when you needed me to — to not do that.”

“It’s okay,” Pat says, his voice low and soothing as he sits down on the edge of the bed. Griffin sits up, still tangled in the blanket, and lets Pat fold him into his arms. “It’s okay. We both have brain shit. We both did things wrong. I should’ve said something to you sooner. You might’ve, uh, might’ve been a little too aggressive — but I _told_ you to be mean. It’s not your fault we weren’t on the same page. Mean can mean a _lot_ of different things. It’s _okay_. I don’t hold it against you. All I want to know is — is — if we’re gonna keep doing this, if you can — if you’re able to — if we can figure out how to communicate without hurting each other.”

“I’ll do anything,” Griffin says fervently. “I’ll work on it. I _swear_. I’m gonna be so nice to you. Gonna spoil the fuck out of you. Gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good, baby. Give you everything you want.”

“Tempting,” Pat says, and his grin sends a wave of relief through Griffin like nothing else. “So, you wanna do this, then? Like, the dating thing?”

“Yes, baby, yes. Absolutely. I want to be with you so _bad_. I wanna be your boyfriend and I wanna suck your dick and I wanna hold your hand and I wanna sleep next to you and I wanna hug you and hold you and kiss you and make you so fucking _happy_.”

“I want that too,” Pat whispers, like a secret. “Can we do that? Can I be yours?”

“Only if I can be yours,” Griffin half-teases.

Patrick’s smile is _sunlight_. “It’s a deal,” he says, and tackles Griffin into a hug.

Griffin follows through on his offer to suck Pat’s dick before he even gets out of bed. He slides over to sink his mouth down on him, and Pat groans and rocks his hips a little. Griffin pulls back to gasp, “You can fuck my face if you want. I can take it,” and Pat’s eyes go very wide.

He whispers _okay_, and when Griffin swallows him down this time, he doesn’t hold back.

Pat is _beautiful_; beautiful at every moment, but he’s breathtaking when he’s desperate. Griffin chases him to the edge hard and fast, then backs off enough that Pat has to rock his hips into him and fuck his mouth and Griffin chokes and whimpers and tears threaten to spill from his eyes just ‘cause that’s how it goes and he sucks hard and his throat flutters around Pat and Pat fucking _wails_ when he comes down Griffin’s throat.

“Christ,” Pat breathes. “You’re perfect, what the hell.”

“Could say the same to you,” Griffin says, voice ragged, and drags Pat in to kiss him. Pat’s hand finds its way to Griffin’s cock; Griffin’s whole body twitches at the touch. Pat jerks him until he’s panting against Pat’s mouth, exhaling little _please, oh, please, please_s, then dives down Griffin’s body to suck his cock until he comes. Griffin throws his arm over his mouth to muffle the way he fucking screeches.

“Boy, your voice is gonna be busted as hell,” Pat says, licking his lips as he sits up.

“Fuck,” Griffin rasps, proving Pat’s point. “Oh, Jesus Christ, I need a shower.”

“If you want company…”

“Didn’t you just shower?”

Pat shrugs, blushing, and Griffin catches on belatedly. _Hello_, this is an offer of an aftercare activity, _duh_.

“I would love that,” Griffin says gently. Pat leans in to kiss him, so softly, so sweetly.

“I love _you_,” Pat says.

“I love you too,” Griffin says, all stunned bewildered grateful wonder. “Fuck, I wanna make you the happiest man in the world.”

“Good news,” Pat says. “I am, having you here with me.”

Griffin launches himself into Pat’s arms, and Pat lets himself be knocked over with the momentum, laughing, until they’re just tussling and kissing and giggling, faces flushed and smiling.

Maybe Griffin feels a little raw, and maybe Pat feels a little raw, but there’s _hope_. There’s a promise. To do better, to be better. To help each other move forward, to find the right ways to love each other.

Griffin couldn’t have asked for more.

He takes Pat’s hand, and swears deep in his heart that he’s gonna do everything in his power to make this man happy.

The smile Pat gives him in return makes him start to believe that he might, just might, be able to make it so.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos mean the world to me ♥♥


End file.
